


Moving On

by Go_Fic_Yourself



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Empathy, M/M, Unrequited, my feels, other people's moods/emotions effecting the empath, sad ending and sadder ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 23:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6878569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Go_Fic_Yourself/pseuds/Go_Fic_Yourself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another piece inspired by the RP group I'm part of where Clint is dating Remy. I love that ship, but the phlint shipper in me couldn't help but wonder what if Phil came back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sad

Phil:

Phil had borrowed a plain black Acura for this, not the most subtle choice, but definitely less likely to attract attention than Lola, besides, tinted windows hid a multitude of sins, namely the fact that he had been sitting outside Clint's apartment for going on forty-five minutes now.   
In that time his mind had played host to a battle between courage and cowardice. 

"You have to see him."  
"It's been three years, why would he even want to see you?"   
"He deserves an explanation."  
"He never wanted anything from you before, why would he now."   
"He loved you, if there's even a chance..."  
"Yeah, but what are the chances really? He was out of your league before and then you betrayed him."  
"You still love him." 

He could have sat there for hours coming up with reasons to knock on the door versus driving away forever, but in the end the decision was made for him. 

In the shadows of one side of the building a figure made the jump from the ground to the ladder leading up to the fire escape, climbing it and the levels that followed with a smooth liquid grace. Phil's brain immediately went into danger assessment mode. About six foot, brown hair, long brown coat, the way he moved said thief, assassin or both, and a good one at that. He was out of the car the second he saw the man start to jimmy open Clint's window. 

He unholstered his gun about halfway up the stairs, taking them two at a time. When he made it to Clint's floor he didn't hesitate, he kicked the door in, shattering the frame around the lock and sending splinters flying into the room. Lucky yelped and started to run away, but turned back when he saw Phil, barking excitedly. Phil did a quick scan, finding the room empty until his eyes came to rest on the sofa where the invader had Clint pressed deep into the cushions. All of it happened in less than a second. 

In the next one the two men had parted, the stranger taking up a defensive posture and reaching into his pocket. Phil leveled the gun on him, not so much because he thought the man was a threat but because that's just what you do when someone reaches into their pocket when you have a gun out. He will deny that it has anything to do with the way Clint had been clinging to the other man when he came in, or the dazed look and kiss reddened lips.

Clint is just staring at him, sharp blue eyes gone soft with emotion. It was sadder, but still so close to the way he used to look at Phil, something he could almost label love. When he finally spoke his voice came out weak and breathy. “Phil?”

 

Clint: 

Seeing Phil was like seeing the video for the first time only about a hundred times worse. 

Before Clint could register what was happening, he was on his feet and walking over, heading towards Phil the way he had for so much of his life. Clint could see the glow a charged card to his right, Remy must have gotten one out while Clint was in Phil's sight line. Clint made a motion that he hoped meant 'stand down' and apparently got the point across because the glow dimmed and went out. 

"Sir?" his voice was a little stronger this time, a little more sure. 

Even though he'd known for months that Phil was alive, him being there now was still like seeing a ghost. Though maybe that would have easier. If Phil didn’t look the same maybe this wouldn’t be hitting him so hard, but aside from a couple years and some lines around the eyes, Phil is unchanged and Clint has to deal with the fact that the man he spent the better part of a decade in love with is standing in his living room.

"Hello Clint." He finally answered, lowering the gun. Lucky is still jumping excitedly around Phil and ignoring Clint’s attempts to call him back. “Hi Lucky.” He says, kneeling down to pet the dog. 

And there it was, the voice in his ear. That voice had guided him through countless missions, been his company during dull hours waiting to shoot something. It was the voice that Clint would willingly follow into hell because Phil always brought him home. Clint made a pained sound, feeling like all of this was too much. 

They were still several feet apart but Clint wanted desperately to close that space, to throw his arms around Phil and have some proof that the man was real. 

"What are you doing here?"

Phil stood, reholstering his gun and straightening his suit. Clint's gaze lingered on his hands for a moment before snapping back up to his face. That wasn't any easier. Blue eyes, piercing and kind, seemed to see right through him. Just like old times. 

Phil huffed a laugh without any feeling behind it. "Would you believe I was just in the neighborhood?" 

Clint flicked his eyes to the door and back to Phil. "No." 

In the months since he learned of the exaggerated nature of Phil's death, and in that time he had pictured their reunion a hundred different ways. He imagined varying shades of anger and joy, but never this quiet grief gradually filling the space between them. 

Rage and longing and love tore at him and all Clint could think was, 'this must be what being stabbed by Loki felt like.' 

"I..." Phil shifted uncomfortably, giving away more in a motion than he did in most conversations. He was nervous, uncertain. He was letting himself be vulnerable. "I wanted to see you." 

Had you asked him before his door came crashing in if he still loved Phil, he would have said no without hesitation. Now though...now, even as rage and relief were warring inside him he felt love bubbling up like spring water. Fuck Phil for coming back and doubly so for making him feel this again.

Remy: 

Remy felt like he was going to be sick, head spinning from the cacophony of emotions filling the room. The burst of protectiveness when the door was kicked in, the shock and hurt that followed. He didn't need his empathy or even to see his face to tell that Clint was upset, the rigid line of his back and anxious twitch of his hand said it all. 

"So you kicked in my door?" He had never heard Clint sound so distant, so tired and lifeless. But even as his tone went flat there was chaos inside him. Anger, relief, regret, happiness and so much love churned together into something that turned Remy's normally strong stomach.

The other man was simpler. Love and longing came off him in waves, remorse serving as an undercurrent. 

Whoever this suit was, he loved Clint and Clint, despite everything else he was feeling towards the other man, loved him back. Add that to the fact Clint had never mentioned this guy before, and Lucky’s enthusiastic greeting and Remy was about ready to start packing his bags.

He tried to compare the feelings Clint had for him to the ones he was he had for this man, but there was no way to separate it from the anger and hurt that was mixed up in it. This love was a poisoned thing.

The suit gave a sharp nod in Remy's direction. "I thought he was breaking in." 

Clint startled and a flash of guilt rushed out, hitting Remy square in the chest. Clint had either forgotten Remy was there, or forgotten about him completely. Yeah, that didn’t bode well. 

"I can take care of myself." Clint replied and all Remy’s insecurities came rushing in to sting at the wound Clint's dismissal of him had left. Remy looked the other man over, taking in his clothes, his tone and bearing. He seemed like someone Clint could depend on, someone strong and reliable. Kind in ways Remy's background would never allow him to be. It wasn’t a comfort, at least not the good kind, but he’d always known he wasn’t good enough for Clint. 

"I know." The man agreed, tone dropping to near a whisper. "But I miss doing it." Lucky was looking between the two men, whining for attention. 

Clint shook his head and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Phil, don't... Please. Just don't." The storm of emotion in Clint was getting worse. It came so fast Remy only had the impression of betrayed, lost, abandoned, rejected, alone, before it was all shoved back down. Remy felt his own flare of protectiveness and rage, hating the fact that anyone could make Clint feel like that.

The other man, Phil, started to reach out for Clint and Remy was damned if he wasn’t going to fight for what he wanted. He had no right to try and touch Clint after making him feel this way. "Clint, cher, you gon' introduce me to yo' friend?" 

Guilt again. So much that his knees would have buckled had he been standing. When that faded Clint turned to him and held out his hand. Remy closed off his empathy, not sure he’d be able to stand long with this constant assault of feelings, and moved to join Clint, taking his hand. 

He’d be flying blind now, for however long this lasted.

 

Phil:

Phil startled at the sound of the stranger's voice, deep and heavily accented. The man unfolded himself from the sofa with that same liquid grace, drawing close and taking Clint's offered hand. Jealousy flared as he watched their fingers interlaced and he reminded himself that he had no right, no claim. 

Clint cleared his throat. "Remy, this is Phil Coulson. He was my handler at S.H.I.E.L.D. and a good friend. He died in the battle of Manhattan, but he got over it." He explained dispassionately. "Phil, this is Remy LeBeau," he flicks eyes eyes briefly at Remy as if looking for confirmation. "My boyfriend." 

Oh. Ever since Bobbi Clint hadn’t been big on titles, trying to keep his relationships casual. Phil used to imagine himself being the one to help Clint get over that. 

Maybe the man he was before he died wouldn’t have done the same and maybe he wasn’t about to make Captain America proud, but he was tired of letting honor and duty and responsibility get in the way of every chance he’d ever had to have something good in his life. Clint had been the best thing in his life for a long time and Phil felt like a fool for not taking the chance while he’d had it, for not finding Clint the day they let him out of medical. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He said, not meaning it. 

“Charmed.” He drawled back, the accent grating as he pressed himself closer to Clint’s side.

“Would you mind if I talked to Clint alone for a minute?”

Remy looked at Clint, mask slipping and something vulnerable shining through, but he still answered. “Non. I wouldn’ mind.” and squeezed Clint’s hand before letting go, but Clint’s fingers stayed curled between his. 

“I would.” He said, “If you can’t say it in front of him then you’ve got no business saying it, Phil.”

Clint: 

He knows what Phil’s going to say, or thinks he does anyway. He knows they were building up to something before Phil died. 

He remembers almost doing something about it a hundred times, remembers their last conversation, where he’d caught Phil by his sleeve when he went to leave, as the facility around them lurched in another of the tesseract’s tantrums. They had just stared for a minute, Clint’s throat struggling with forming words and his fingers curled around the fine wool of Phil’s suit. There was yelling of people coming down the corridor and Phil managed a gruff, “Stay safe, Barton.” before tugging free of his grip and leaving to meet Director Fury. 

There was a time and a place for that, but both of those are gone now. 

 

Remy:

Remy looks at Clint, at their still joined hands and back at Clint again. There’s a flicker of hope dancing in his chest and he lets his fingers wrap back around Clint’s. Cautiously he opens his empathy a little and what he feels from Clint makes his breath catch a little. The feelings from earlier are still there. He still loves the other man, Phil. Part of Remy doubts that will ever change, but those emotions are eclipsed by the love and certainty he feels directed at him. Love and passion are important, but so is choice, and right now Clint is choosing him. He grips Clint’s hand hard and sends his own feelings back. Love, certainty, surprise...joy. 

Phil is still there when Remy brings his attention back. He doesn’t know how long he was focused on Clint, but the other man looks crestfallen, it’s a struggle for Remy to not take some pleasure in that. 

“You’re right, Clint.” Remy takes no pleasure in that, in the pained way Phil says Clint’s name. “I have no business here. I’m sorry. For interrupting. For the door. I’ll pay for that.” Clint waves it away. He’ll take care of it later. Phil nods and goes to leave. “It was good to see you again.” He nods once to Remy before turning away. Next to him Remy feels Clint’s body sway as if trying to follow, but his hand holds onto Remy’s tighter and his emotions don’t waver except for the long note of sadness running through them. 

Through the open door they watch Phil turn to take the stairs and disappear. Remy wonders if Clint would go to the window to watch if he weren’t here. Wonders if this would have gone differently, had he not been here. But Clint is tugging on his hand and moving them to sit on the couch and he rests his head on his shoulder. Lucky joins them a minute later, still whining in confusion as to why his friend had left. Remy sends out comforting tendrils of emotion to both of them and waits until Clint is ready to talk. 

Phil:

Phil makes it to the car before breaking down, and even then it is a subdued display. He shuts the door behind him and tears begin to fall, silent as he keeps tenuous control of his breath, in and out through his nose, knowing if he loses that rhythm he will lose what little he has left. He has his control. He has S.H.I.E.L.D. Everything else is still in that apartment, holding the hand of another man.


	2. Sadder

Phil:

Phil had borrowed a plain black Acura for this, not the most subtle choice, but definitely less likely to attract attention than Lola, besides, tinted windows hid a multitude of sins, namely the fact that he had been sitting outside Clint's apartment for going on forty-five minutes now.  
In that time his mind had played host to a battle between courage and cowardice.

"You have to see him."  
"It's been three years, why would he even want to see you?"  
"He deserves an explanation."  
"He never wanted anything from you before, why would he now."  
"He loved you, if there's even a chance..."  
"Yeah, but what are the chances really? He was out of your league before and then you betrayed him."  
"You still love him."

He could have sat there for hours coming up with reasons to knock on the door versus driving away forever, but in the end the decision was made for him.

In the shadows of one side of the building a figure made the jump from the ground to the ladder leading up to the fire escape, climbing it and the levels that followed with a smooth liquid grace. Phil's brain immediately went into danger assessment mode. About six foot, brown hair, long brown coat, the way he moved said thief, assassin or both, and a good one at that. He was out of the car the second he saw the man start to jimmy open Clint's window.

He unholstered his gun about halfway up the stairs, taking them two at a time. When he made it to Clint's floor he didn't hesitate, he kicked the door in, shattering the frame around the lock and sending splinters flying into the room. Lucky yelped and started to run away, but turned back when he saw Phil, barking excitedly. Phil did a quick scan, finding the room empty until his eyes came to rest on the sofa where the invader had Clint pressed deep into the cushions. All of it happened in less than a second.

In the next one the two men had parted, the stranger taking up a defensive posture and reaching into his pocket. Phil leveled the gun on him, not so much because he thought the man was a threat but because that's just what you do when someone reaches into their pocket when you have a gun out. He will deny that it has anything to do with the way Clint had been clinging to the other man when he came in, or the dazed look and kiss reddened lips.

Clint is just staring at him, sharp blue eyes gone soft with emotion. It was sadder, but still so close to the way he used to look at Phil, something he could almost label love. When he finally spoke his voice came out weak and breathy. “Phil?”

 

Clint:

Seeing Phil was like seeing the video for the first time only about a hundred times worse.

Before Clint could register what was happening, he was on his feet and walking over, heading towards Phil the way he had for so much of his life. Clint could see the glow a charged card to his right, Remy must have gotten one out while Clint was in Phil's sight line. Clint made a motion that he hoped meant 'stand down' and apparently got the point across because the glow dimmed and went out.

"Sir?" his voice was a little stronger this time, a little more sure.

Even though he'd known for months that Phil was alive, him being there now was still like seeing a ghost. Though maybe that would have easier. If Phil didn’t look the same maybe this wouldn’t be hitting him so hard, but aside from a couple years and some lines around the eyes, Phil is unchanged and Clint has to deal with the fact that the man he spent the better part of a decade in love with is standing in his living room.

"Hello Clint." He finally answered, lowering the gun. Lucky is still jumping excitedly around Phil and ignoring Clint’s attempts to call him back. “Hi Lucky.” He says, kneeling down to pet the dog.

And there it was, the voice in his ear. That voice had guided him through countless missions, been his company during dull hours waiting to shoot something. It was the voice that Clint would willingly follow into hell because Phil always brought him home. Clint made a pained sound, feeling like all of this was too much.

They were still several feet apart but Clint wanted desperately to close that space, to throw his arms around Phil and have some proof that the man was real.

"What are you doing here?"

Phil stood, reholstering his gun and straightening his suit. Clint's gaze lingered on his hands for a moment before snapping back up to his face. That wasn't any easier. Blue eyes, piercing and kind, seemed to see right through him. Just like old times.

Phil huffed a laugh without any feeling behind it. "Would you believe I was just in the neighborhood?"

Clint flicked his eyes to the door and back to Phil. "No."

In the months since he learned of the exaggerated nature of Phil's death, and in that time he had pictured their reunion a hundred different ways. He imagined varying shades of anger and joy, but never this quiet grief gradually filling the space between them.

Rage and longing and love tore at him and all Clint could think was, 'this must be what being stabbed by Loki felt like.'

"I..." Phil shifted uncomfortably, giving away more in a motion than he did in most conversations. He was nervous, uncertain. He was letting himself be vulnerable. "I wanted to see you."

Had you asked him before his door came crashing in if he still loved Phil, he would have said no without hesitation. Now though...now, even as rage and relief were warring inside him he felt love bubbling up like spring water. Fuck Phil for coming back and doubly so for making him feel this again.

Remy:

Remy felt like he was going to be sick, head spinning from the cacophony of emotions filling the room. The burst of protectiveness when the door was kicked in, the shock and hurt that followed. He didn't need his empathy or even to see his face to tell that Clint was upset, the rigid line of his back and anxious twitch of his hand said it all.

"So you kicked in my door?" He had never heard Clint sound so distant, so tired and lifeless. But even as his tone went flat there was chaos inside him. Anger, relief, regret, happiness and so much love churned together into something that turned Remy's normally strong stomach.

The other man was simpler. Love and longing came off him in waves, remorse serving as an undercurrent.

Whoever this suit was, he loved Clint and Clint, despite everything else he was feeling towards the other man, loved him back. Add that to the fact Clint had never mentioned this guy before, and Lucky’s enthusiastic greeting and Remy was about ready to start packing his bags.

He tried to compare the feelings Clint had for him to the ones he was he had for this man, but there was no way to separate it from the anger and hurt that was mixed up in it. This love was a poisoned thing.

The suit gave a sharp nod in Remy's direction. "I thought he was breaking in."

Clint startled and a flash of guilt rushed out, hitting Remy square in the chest. Clint had either forgotten Remy was there, or forgotten about him completely. Yeah, that didn’t bode well.

"I can take care of myself." Clint replied and all Remy’s insecurities came rushing in to sting at the wound Clint's dismissal of him had left. Remy looked the other man over, taking in his clothes, his tone and bearing. He seemed like someone Clint could depend on, someone strong and reliable. Kind in ways Remy's background would never allow him to be. It wasn’t a comfort, at least not the good kind, but he’d always known he wasn’t good enough for Clint.

"I know." The man agreed, tone dropping to near a whisper. "But I miss doing it." Lucky was looking between the two men, whining for attention.

Clint shook his head and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Phil, don't... Please. Just don't." The storm of emotion in Clint was getting worse. It came so fast Remy only had the impression of betrayed, lost, abandoned, rejected, alone, before it was all shoved back down. Remy felt his own flare of protectiveness and rage, hating the fact that anyone could make Clint feel like that.

The other man, Phil, started to reach out for Clint and Remy was damned if he wasn’t going to fight for what he wanted. He had no right to try and touch Clint after making him feel this way. "Clint, cher, you gon' introduce me to yo' friend?"

Guilt again. So much that his knees would have buckled had he been standing. When that faded Clint turned to him and held out his hand. Remy closed off his empathy, not sure he’d be able to stand long with this constant assault of feelings, and moved to join Clint, taking his hand.

He’d be flying blind now, for however long this lasted.

 

Phil:

Phil startled at the sound of the stranger's voice, deep and heavily accented. The man unfolded himself from the sofa with that same liquid grace, drawing close and taking Clint's offered hand. Jealousy flared as he watched their fingers interlaced and he reminded himself that he had no right, no claim.

Clint cleared his throat. "Remy, this is Phil Coulson. He was my handler at S.H.I.E.L.D. and a good friend. He died in the battle of Manhattan, but he got over it." He explained dispassionately. "Phil, this is Remy LeBeau," he flicks eyes eyes briefly at Remy as if looking for confirmation. "My boyfriend."

Oh. Ever since Bobbi Clint hadn’t been big on titles, trying to keep his relationships casual. Phil used to imagine himself being the one to help Clint get over that.

Maybe the man he was before he died wouldn’t have done the same and maybe he wasn’t about to make Captain America proud, but he was tired of letting honor and duty and responsibility get in the way of every chance he’d ever had to have something good in his life. Clint had been the best thing in his life for a long time and Phil felt like a fool for not taking the chance while he’d had it, for not finding Clint the day they let him out of medical.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He said, not meaning it.

“Charmed.” He drawled back, the accent grating as he pressed himself closer to Clint’s side.

“Would you mind if I talked to Clint alone for a minute?”

Remy looked at Clint, mask slipping and something vulnerable shining through, but he still answered. “Non. I wouldn’ mind.” and squeezed Clint’s hand before letting go, but Clint’s fingers stayed curled between his.

“I would.” He said, “If you can’t say it in front of him then you’ve got no business saying it, Phil.”

Clint:

He knows what Phil’s going to say, or thinks he does anyway. He knows they were building up to something before Phil died. 

He remembers almost doing something about it a hundred times, remembers their last conversation, where he’d caught Phil by his sleeve when he went to leave, as the facility around them lurched in another of the tesseract’s tantrums. They had just stared for a minute, Clint’s throat struggling with forming words and his fingers curled around the fine wool of Phil’s suit. There was yelling of people coming down the corridor and Phil managed a gruff, “Stay safe, Barton.” before tugging free of his grip and leaving to meet Director Fury.

He still loves Phil just as much as he had that day, but he doesn’t trust him anymore. How important could he really be to someone who let him believe they were dead for three years? No matter how desperately he wants this, wants Phil, it will always be him trying to hang on to the ghost of what they could have been, what they used to be. 

It should be easy. Remy is here and it’s his hand Clint’s holding. He is real and solid and Clint loves him. It should be so easy. 

It’s not, but he’s decided anyway. 

Still, he hopes Phil doesn’t say it out loud, because he honestly doesn’t know what he’ll do if he does.

Remy:

Remy looks at Clint, at their still joined hands and back at Clint again. There’s a flicker of hope dancing in his chest and he lets his fingers wrap back around Clint’s. Cautiously he opens his empathy and finds that nothing has changed. Clint’s emotions are still shifting back and forth, pacing like a cornered animal.

He’s not sure how the man is keeping it together, he can feel his pain and indecision, even as he holds fast to Remy’s hand, he can tell Clint wants to be screaming. It's easy to lose himself, in Clint’s pain, in Phil’s, and in his own. 

Clint’s uncertainty is like poison. He feels it seeping into all the weak parts of him, feeding all his inner demons. Clint chose him, but he still loves Phil and with an intensity Remy isn’t sure he can match. Someday Clint will get over whatever wrong Phil did to him and he’ll leave. It’s only a matter of when.

But Remy isn’t a good man. He won’t make the self sacrificing choice to push Clint away. He loves him and he’ll keep him as long as he can. He has Clint’s heart for now, and possession is 9/10ths of the law. 

Phil is still there when Remy brings his attention back to their little tableau. He doesn’t know how long he was focused on Clint and his own thoughts, but the other man looks crestfallen. 

“You’re right, Clint.” Remy takes no pleasure in that, in the pained way Phil says Clint’s name. “I have no business here. I’m sorry. For interrupting. For the door. I’ll pay for that.” Clint waves it away. He’ll take care of it later. Phil nods and goes to leave. “It was good to see you again.” He nods once to Remy before turning away. Next to him Remy feels Clint’s body sway as if trying to follow, but his hand holds onto Remy’s tighter even as the sadness takes on a desperate note. 

Through the open door they watch Phil turn to take the stairs and disappear. Remy wonders if Clint would go to the window to watch if he weren’t here. Wonders if this would have gone differently, had he not been here. But Clint is tugging on his hand and moving them to sit on the couch and he rests his head on his shoulder. Lucky joins them a minute later, still whining in confusion as to why his friend had left. 

Phil:

Phil makes it to the car before breaking down, and even then it is a subdued display. He shuts the door behind him and tears begin to fall, silent as he keeps tenuous control of his breath, in and out through his nose, knowing if he loses that rhythm he will lose what little he has left. He has his control. He has S.H.I.E.L.D.. Everything else is still in that apartment, holding the hand of another man.


End file.
